


The Fort Drakon Plan

by trilliath



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Awkward Alistair, Extra Sexy Zevran, Forced Voyeurism, M/M, Pervy Guards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trilliath/pseuds/trilliath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to rescue the warden from captivity at Fort Drakon, Zevran and Alistair come up with a plan: infiltrate the fort by bringing a sexied-up Zevran as a "gift" for the fort's captain, with Alistair as his "handler".</p><p>Except the plan backfires when the guards want some proof that Zevran's got the goods. Alistair won't hear of Zevran servicing the guards, so in turn they demand that Alistair demonstrate his product.</p><p>Inspired by a kmeme prompt I lost track of. As usual though, I can't stick to a simple prompt, and this story has gotten all sorts of long and complicated dealing with how this whole thing has affected the balance between the two men, eventually leading to romance and other delicious things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Queen be damned

"Why in the name of the maker's blasted bollocks did they decide that _now_ was a good time to go off and show initiative?" Alistair demanded to the empty room at Arl Eamon's estate - the room which ought to have housed some of their companions.  
As it was, their fellows had allowed themselves to be summoned by word of a coup attempt on Bann Teagan's land and had left to support him in defending his home from Loghain. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, leaving the two wardens and Zevran behind with the trusty hound to deal with their various missions. However, now the only ones back at the estate were Zevran, the dog, and Alistair.

These days the younger man seemed less and less young, and more and more _man_. It was certainly something delectable to contemplate, or rather _would_ have been if Zevran hadn't been busy being just as frustrated and exhausted as the warrior.

"I do not know, my fine friend," he responded with a sigh.

As Alistair led them to confer with the Arl and the Queen, Zevran was preoccupied with his thoughts. The memory of the altercation was cold in Zevran's mind. As he had been trained to do, he ran it over and over, looking for where he had made his mistake. He assessed each angle, considered every eventuality. Every little choice.  
But fundamentally it came down to the fact that their zealous grey-warden leader had taken matters into her own hands.  
She had ordered them to go, using her magic to back up the word. Inserting herself between them and the overwhelming force of enemies, she had cut loose.  
In a wave of force that had flung her enemies from her front and her two companions and faithful dog behind her into a tumbled heap with the treacherous queen, she had willed the doors closed behind them, protecting their escape.  
Yes, the memory replayed sharp in his mind.

"No!" Alistair had shouted, hurling himself to his feet and rushing back to the door.

"Alistair," Zevran had said, voice quiet, rolling to his feet after disentangling his limbs from the woman's. Having landed more or less at the bottom of the pile, cold mud smeared his legs and he'd have a rather nice bruise on his thigh from the woman's armor. No matter. He'd slid his daggers home in their sheathes and picked up Alistair's discarded sword.

"Queen be damned," Alistair had spat and threw himself bodily against the wood, huge reinforced walls of oak. But they had held completely solid, despite his strength. The dog had growled at the door as Alistair made to throw his shoulder against it again.

And then Zevran had grabbed his friend's heavily plated arm, though the man's movement dragged the lighter assassin forward a pace before Alistair paused, chest heaving, face flushed. His eyes had already started showing the painful tightening of knowledge, of anticipation of Zevran's words, and their truth. It was a bleak look. 

All of it was made worse by muffled cries on the other side of the wood, and the rain which was steadily shifting from drizzle to downpour overhead.

"Alistair," he'd said again, quietly.  
The warrior had punched the wood but had stepped back then, shaking his head.

Anora had still been gathering herself trying to get to her feet unassisted in what was probably a very unfamiliar fashion. Though finely fitted to her form, her armor was probably too heavy for her to actually work in successfully.

Alistair had turned from the huge oak doors and the noises behind them and had taken the sword Zevran had extended towards him. He'd reached down with a huge hand to grip the woman's upper arm, hauling her upright unceremoniously, pulling her after him before she could even get her bearings. 

"Wait, I demand-," she'd started, smacking ineffectually at the hard armored grip on her arm. 

"Be silent you foolish woman," Zevran had cut in, savoring the look of shock on her face at being interrupted by a tanned tattooed elven rogue. Sweet though it was, it hadn't had the same satisfying twist in light of recent events.

Alistair marched firmly onward, ignoring the exchange. Dog scouted ahead, again showing its Mabari wit.

"I will not put up with botched-,"  
The sound Alistair made was nearly a growl as he continued his fast pace out of the estate and into the shadows of the city.

"Were it up to me, I'd leave you to their mercies," Zevran said sharply. "You would do well not to test Alistair further," he added.

Alistair shot him a sharp gaze, face clearly showing the conflicted thoughts to which Zevran alluded. Zevran pursed his lips back in bitter resolve.  
"We get her safe, then we go back," Alistair had said, voice tight.

Which was how Zevran found himself in the Arl's study, seeing Alistair assert himself for the first time against his erstwhile father figure when the Arl tried to insist they remain till the others returned from their quest.

"We're going," Alistair said, brushing past the Arl and the queen. "Now."

Zevran knew it was a foolish plan even as he followed the warrior closely from the room to make preparations. But part of him, the part the warden had begun to change since she had strangely shown him mercy and welcomed him into her party, didn't care. It was a part of him the crows had smothered, but over the past months had begun to grow back. A part of him that did not always think that the most self-preserving choice was unquestionably the right choice.

That part of him knew they would rescue Solona, or die trying.


	2. Schemey-ness

He could tell that Alistair disliked the light elegant leather armor he was wearing by the way he kept prodding it. The man probably didn't know he did it. Zevran stopped walking, but the warrior was so preoccupied that he didn't notice until the leash held loosely in his hand jerked tight, tugging Zevran a half-step after him.

'Maker, Zev, I'm sorry," he said, cheeks growing hot as he regarded the leash in his hands again, quickly stepping back to ease the tension.  
Such discomfort was hardly noticeable to the assassin, who was trained for much, much, harsher treatment in the talons of the crows. 

They were close to the keep, close enough that they might have even been spotted by the guard already. They could still retreat if necessary.

And necessary it might be, if Alistair wasn't able to put the mantle of his persona on more completely than the leather armor he was wearing.  
Staying in character was easily done for Zevran, as it had once been part of him to do this, to play the role of the submissive sex toy. The crows had made sure of that; his training had been… complete. And while perhaps a bit distasteful, the tactic had earned him a few good kills.

Staying true to his role, should anyone be watching he faced Alistair, his posture tight and head held just so.   
But his words were not submissive. They even grew a bit sharp, though his usual dulcet tones were still predominant.  
"My friend, while I admire your courage for going along with this plan, I'm afraid you're going to need to do better than this if we are to have a chance of succeeding."

"Maker, Zev, I don't know if I can do this," Alistair replied with a gulp. Zevran lifted his head slightly to turn sharply assessing eyes on him. If he could not do it, best to know now.  
Alistair shook himself a little. "Sorry. Right. What am I doing wrong now?" he asked, nudging the unfamiliar leathers at his belly again with a knuckle. The armor was designed more for a nobleman or wealthy businessman than a warrior. The leather was smooth and pristine, even embroidered in places.

"Do not touch your armor. You need to look comfortable in it,"  
In response, Alistair jerked his hand away, straightening his shoulders. He still looked nervous.

"You need to look in command. There can be no doubts. They must believe that I am your slave, that you have trained me to pleasure you and others. You must believe that my talents are exceptional. You must wear your knowledge of this - because, my friend, were you who you are pretending to be you _would_ know it was true from personal experience," he said with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.  
That brought a hot blush to the young man's cheeks.   
Zevran sighed. 

"I don't like all this schemey-ness. I still think we should go in our normal fashion," he muttered, even though they both know that one warrior and one assassin storming the fort is foolish at best.

Zevran would gladly spare his friend and infiltrate the place himself, but the locale of the fortifications made daring acts of acrobatics close to impossible. As a fortress as well as a dungeon, the soldiers garrisoned there served as backups should the guards fail. It was actually quite well done. 

And while in Antiva, many of his skills might have been used to gain entry (there was _always_ at least one servant languishing in loneliness to be seduced out of his or her vigilance), here in the cold narrow-minded bastion of stone that was Fereldan, he had very limited options for short-notice entry - and all such potential plans required Alistair's help. 

They were lucky enough to have an edge in that the keep's Captain was indeed known for his predilections. They had found that information in records hurriedly dug through which had been recovered from the Arl of Denerim's estate. Correspondences and logbooks showed that Howe had occasionally supplied the Captain with young elven male "criminals" from the alienage.  
Since Zevran had a strong dislike for the trite "false prisoner" gimmick - because it _never_ worked as well as it ought, they were going for the Captain's favorite weakness. 

"Ah but you will have your sword at your back, my friend," Zevran said, touching a reassuring hand to Alistair's heavily muscled arm "And you have your strength."

He got a firm nod from the young man. Alistair sighed and shook out his shoulders, faint smile turning up for his friend.

"While I have neither for the moment," Zevran continued, considering his weaponless state and glancing at his fine clothing visible through the gap in the thick cloak, "I never stay that way for long," the assassin said, casting him a haughty and confident glance. 

Alistair smiled at that, because it was the truth. Some ease and confidence began to blossom on the young man's face, so lovely in it's freedom from artifice.

But although the man's naturally sunny smile was an improvement, it was not enough.   
So Zevran brought him back to reality.   
Hard.

"But you _must_ do better. This is our only chance. You must do this, or Solona will probably be slain. She will _certainly_ be tortured and raped, if she has not been already," he says, regretting the necessity of the blunt speech.

Alistair's face started to grow quiet then, blush fading and eyes getting flatter as he pursed his lips.

And _there_ was the Man, with less of the Young… though again, Zevran felt a mild regret for the loss of that sweet openness and honesty.  
But only a mild and momentary regret, he thought, glancing up at the forbidding keep. Because he knew better than any of them how little chance they had if Alistair couldn't bring himself to be hard, at least when necessary.

"Now, you will be fi-," his soothing words were cut off with a sharp tug from the leather strip around his neck. Reflex nearly had him dropping to his knees in the proper subservient response. His eyes snapped to Alistair's face in surprise.

The man who gazed back at him had the aloof expression appropriate for his slave-training persona. It was wrapped fully around him, drawn over his naturally kind visage like a heavy cloak.  
"I don't recall giving you the permission to speak," he said, voice haughty.

Ah.

Zevran lowered his eyes in appropriate deference. Pride surged through him.  
"Yes Master," he said in a careful voice.

Then, in a voice he was much more familiar with, but one that was still seriously determined, Alistair said "Let's do this."


	3. Pay the Gatekeeper

"For the commander. A gift from the Arl Howe and His Majesty Loghain," Alistair said, cocking a hip in an awkward rendition of arrogance, delivering their practiced line.

"He ain't expecting no gifts," one of the guards said, crossing his arms.

"Because it's _probably_ a surprise," the third man mused from where he sat at the back of the room, more interested in his canteen than hassling the newcomers. "You know, like how most presents are…"

"What sort of gift," the nearest guard asked, gazing at Zevran with narrowed eyes through the vertical gaps in his helmet.

Zevran maintained his steady gaze below the man's chin, ensuring he appeared perfectly subservient even as he catalogued the men's potential and weapons in his peripheral vision.

Pursing his lips, Alistair tugged on the leather chord that had been mostly hidden by the assassin's cloak. Zevran knelt without hesitation, settling onto his knees and heels, hands resting on his spread thighs. The move pushed the folds of his cloak back so that his elegantly and rather lasciviously clad body could be better seen. A long band of tan flesh from his throat to his navel was exposed by the loose silk shirt, and his trousers were plenty tight in all the right places.  
He actually rather liked it - an excellent outfit for spring in Antiva. Sadly in Fereldan it was rather more scandalous.

"What do you think," the warrior answered. "Your commander's _intimate interests_ are hardly a secret," he asserted, cocking an eyebrow at the men.   
The part of Zevran that was the trained assassin winced slightly at the way the young man put a little too much innuendo in the inflection of his voice. The part of Zevran that understood more than what the crows had taught him was proud of the unending bravery that his friend put forth.

"You got that right," the man in the back muttered.

"Yeah but…" the man in front crossed his arms, clearly not looking interested in ushering them into the inner chambers where the guard commander was.

"Sure don't look like any slave I ever seen come up here," the second guard said with a suspicious gaze at the elf. 

Despite Zevran's smooth silk garments and weak position, it seemed the man was not going to underestimate him as much as they had hoped. He carefully revised his estimate for how long it would take to kill the man upwards of fifteen seconds. Despicable, really.

"He doesn't?" Alistair said, tension spiking up again in his voice. "Seen many such slaves then, have you?" Alistair asked, uncertainty edging into his tone.

He wasn't doing poorly, but it wasn't good enough. Zevran's feet were tucked under his behind, toes bent, knees angled slightly such that he could be springing into a lethal attack with no delay. They could survive if it went pear-shaped, but only in retreat. With no mage or healer to support them, they could not take an entire keep in a frontal assault. They would fail their warden friend.

Fortunately, however, the question had the effect of inciting the other guards to tease the man with ribald comments about how he would know what a proper male prostitute looked like and so on. He turned to jab indignant gestures at the others.

"Quality," Zevran murmured urgently to Alistair while they were distracted, not moving an inch from his perfect submissive pose. Ah the thrill of subterfuge! 

Alistair regained some of his composure, putting on a fair imitation of a haughty look. He took a deep breath, then interrupted the banter, perhaps recalling some of Zevran's explanations and backstory to support his words.

"My man here has been thoroughly trained into his excellent skills and physique. He is no common street rat, rutting for two bits in an alley. "

If the situation hadn't been so precarious - no, who was he going to kid? Regardless of the danger, Zevran was highly amused at the genuine quality of pride in his companion's voice. It was more or less the truth, after all.

"Don't ask me about the politics behind it all, but this isn't the usual sort of treat your commander might get. I'm sure you are aware that Arl Howe is known for his… tastes," Alistair said, glancing at the fingernails on one hand absently.

Zevran had no doubt that they were _not_ aware, as this was not exactly Denarim central. Fortunately, few liked to admit being ignorant of fashionable city gossip, so the conceit worked in their favor.

Alistair continued, "He has personally selected my… ah... assistance in this matter. In Denarim, I am also known for my... taste."

Keeping things vague seemed to help Alistair avoid the killer blush that always threatened to creep onto his face at the first hints of innuendo. In this case it actually served to make him sound somewhat sophisticated, paired with his bored expression.

But they still weren't making progress.

"Ok, maybe I don't know about fancy whores," the guard said, shrugging off the feelings of gaucheness. "But... he looks a little too… I don't know. Strong," the first guard said, gazing at Zevran's body a little too thoroughly.

Ah. Zevran knew where this was heading. Pay the gatekeeper. Distasteful, but effective. Yet he had no way of indicating it to Alistair. How shocked would the young man be? Zevran smirked internally at the thought. He hoped Alistair would be able to stay in character when the subject was eventually broached.

The second guard frowned, glancing at the kneeling elf. "Yeah, a bit tough lookin, actually," he agreed.  
"How do we know he's as good as you say and not some… assassin," the first guard said, sneering up at Alistair.

 _As if the two were mutually exclusive?_ , Zevran thought incredulously. _Ach. Fereldans!_  
Were Leliana not occupied on her foolish mission, she would understand the hilarity of the statement. He hoped he lived through this misadventure in order to tell her of it.

"An assassin?" the guard (who really looked like he was of Oghren's persuasion when it came to opinions of mixing drink with daily life) said with a laugh. "For the commander?"

"Ok whatever," the man replied, glaring. "But we'd want to be sure he could live up to the commander's… uh. Expectations," he said with a grin and tilt of his head towards the other guard.  
The second guard seemed to catch his drift and licked his lips absently. "True. Would want to make sure the commander is happy after all."

Zevran could see a bit of the tension leaking out of Alistair's shoulders at this change of pace. The warrior seemed to be missing the innuendo, hearing the positive tones and seeing the smiles.  
Zevran, however, knew that it was _not_ a turn in their favor. He steeled himself against a sigh and began the mental preparations for what was undoubtedly going to be an unpleasant experience. 

"That's why we're here," one of them said to the other.  
"Right. Like food tasters. Put him through his paces, prove they're legit," the first man said, grinning lewdly.

Then the guard took a step closer to Zevran, groping his crotch.  
"You know what to do with this, don’t'cha boy," the man said, grinning down at the kneeling elf.

For a moment, it didn't dawn on the chantry-bred and still naïve warrior what they intended.   
"Of course he does," Alistair said, voice going a little slow the way it did when he was struggling to get his wits back onto pace with the world.

Zevran rose up on his knees, putting his head more level with the man's crotch. When the guard came to a halt before him he made for the flap of his armor as the man started to unbuckle his belted front armor panel to free the space.

"No," Alistair said faintly, so quietly the guard didn't seem to hear.

Zevran pretended not to hear him, hoping that Alistair would keep his cool. The elf cursed himself for not thinking to explain this possibility to the young warrior. The way all of this infiltrator's dance was simply _ingrained_ for him made it difficult to remember all the potentialities explicitly.   
He just knew how to react.  
This development, though unfortunate, merely required proving the efficacy of his very talented tongue and would get them what they wanted. And a little tongue exercise was not truly a hardship, considering the alternatives.

"No," Alistair said firmly then, tugging hard on the leather tie around Zevran's neck, jerking him back in the reflexive strength the man wielded so effortlessly. The elf lifted to his feet at the pull.

Zevran had been resigned to the mildly unpleasant acts. But it was not as though Alistair would know that, or the fact that it would not have actually been too much a bother for the assassin. Plus the young man was more than protective of his friends. 

Too much so it seemed. 

Zevran felt excitement rush through his system as he readied himself for things to fall apart. He could still disable the nearest guard even if Alistair forgot to let go his lead. Four seconds, he estimated, gaze taking in the belt knife on the guard's hip.

But Zevran saw he was underestimating his young friend once again by the way the guards shifted in reaction to just the flexing of his presence.

"I understand your intent," Alistair said, voice cold and controlled once more. "But you really are out of your depth. Merchandise like this runs at a far greater cost than you can even imagine, and I won't have my wares spoiled by common guards."

Ha-ha! Well done. _Quality indeed_

The first guard, who had been the one advancing, let out a disgusted sound of disappointment and turned away, resuming his position in the center of the room, cowed by Alistair's tough response.

The second guard however was not so easily swayed. "I still don't like the look of him."

"And I don't like the thought of having to go tell Howe and Loghain that his gift was refused. Do you really want their wrath?" Alistair said back.

 _No! He should speak of their commander's wrath,_ Zevran thought, frustrated at the necessity of his silence.

The guard sneered. "What do I care for them?" He seemed to be the crafty one of the three, and he proved his deviousness when he next spoke. "Fine. We are at an impasse. We need proof, and you need to deliver your… merchandise."

Alistair pursed his lips.

The guard continued, saying, "So split the difference. You 'ave him demonstrate on your cock. I'm sure that wouldn't spoil him too much, since you have him trained so well and all."

Oh-ho! Now there was a twist he hadn't expected. Zevran kept the surprise from his face, but he let his brows raise in question up at the warrior as Zevran turned to face him. 

Alistair's beautiful caramel eyes were widening slightly even as he pressed his lips tight in a struggle to retain his stern countenance.

Hilarious as this twist was, it was also… problematic. In a way, servicing the three guards would have been easier, and perhaps even the more desirable route.

Well, not more desirable, he thought, gazing up at the gorgeous warrior before him. And he did desire, though he had never let it go beyond the most idle consideration, at least not after his fellow gray warden had noticed his speculative gazes and warned the assassin off the naïve young man.   
And she'd been right. He valued the friendship they had slowly built.  
But when nobody was looking… when it could do no harm - then yes, he did desire.

Zevran gave a minute nod of his acquiescence, but he could not make the final decision or take charge without exposing their ruse. Regardless, he knew as soon as he met the man's gaze that there was only one decision either would make. She was too important to both of them.

His jaw clenched in what Zevran recognized as a real struggle for composure. Alistair was _mad_. Zevran approved of the emotion, as it would serve the young man better than his otherwise inevitable shame or humiliation at what was to come. However, the possible reasons for his anger made Zevran wince internally as he evaluated the different potential futures as was his habit. 

He knew well enough that Alistair was sexually inexperienced. Not just inexperienced, but _completely untouched_.   
He would view this as a horrific sort of intrusion from these strangers, and worse, from his friend. Abuse of power was nothing new to the warrior, but he certainly would feel some resentment towards these men for this blatant disregard for duty or morals.

But Zevran feared Alistair would perhaps turn his anger on the assassin, who was the one to perform the act. Now Zevran cursed the days before their friend the warden had intervened. When he had taunted the younger man with his customary sensuality.   
Because for this to work, Alistair would have to enjoy it.   
And surely his debauching the man so would remind him of those vulnerable moments when Zevran's predatory sexual jibes and innuendos had dug at him, had caused those brief flickers of curiosity and even arousal - quickly followed by the shame that had so excited Zevran back then, back when he hadn't cared about harming the man.   
He didn't want to see shame again. Not anymore.  
It was a terrible mess.  
Zevran decided he would do everything he could not let his own enjoyment show, to keep his face from turning into something lecherous that would make Alistair feel even more vulnerable under his attentions… but certain _reactions_ were hard to mask.

Or mayhap the gods would smile on him and perhaps Alistair would merely draw on his anger at their missing warden's imprisonment. Perhaps he would not blame Zevran for the intrusion, and would spare them some of the inevitable damage to their friendship.

Ironically, for all his assessments, the assassin completely missed the real source of anger with which Alistair wrestled.

"Very well," Alistair said, clearing his throat.

Zevran knelt swiftly, reaching up to touch Alistair's legs at the knee, to steady him to his touch. He half expected the man to jolt away from his fingers, but then again, they had fought at each other's sides too long for a little contact to be a completely foreign thing. He gazed up at Alistair's face briefly, to assess whether he was ready.

Alistair's face had the closed look it got when he was practicing his drills alone in the rays of the setting or rising sun. Perfect Templar concentration.

_Good. Think of other things, my friend_

"Well then, get on with it. Suck me off," Alistair ordered. Only a friend would notice the slight hesitation on the S. To others it would sound like a brusque order.

Zevran went straight to the task, avoiding foreplay for a number of reasons, not least of which being that Alistair's virginal state was likely going to be an issue of the _overselling it_ variety. 

His hands touched the bulge of Alistair's groin - and a _bulge_ it was, which surprised Zevran a moment before the assassin remembered those flickers of confused arousal his erstwhile teasing had once elicited from the young man. He cursed the necessity of this debauchery again as he undid the fly of Alistair's breeches with methodical motions. 

Part of him, however, was delighted at this turn. He was honest enough with himself that he had to admit it would be a treat like none other, to taste the very thing he had thought he would always have been denied. That part of him was sad to see the opportunity wasted with such a insufficient encounter. He would much rather have had the warrior in his bed where he could teach the young man all sorts of wonderful things at a languorous pace, designed to please him thoroughly. But as that was something never to be… perhaps he didn't mind this so much. Perhaps it would help the young man over some of his inhibitions.

He felt more than heard the shaky breath Alistair took as Zevran's hand slipped into his clothing, touching him intimately for the first time. He kept his features carefully neutral as he slid the young man's cock into his palm, drawing it out from the folds of cloth. It was broad and long, just like its bearer. Zevran kept the smile of appreciation off his face, but he certainly felt it.

Zevran let his body hide most of the length from the questing gaze of the guards. He made sure he let his shoulders and neck move and flex as though he were employing one of his more vigorous or tantalizing techniques when really all he was doing was stroking the warrior gently until his cock was hard and swollen.

He could see Alistair's abdomen tense at each new sensation. His hands fisted at his sides.  
But one of the guards was nearing, to gain a better vantage, and Zevran knew that the critical point was fast approaching. If he did not take the warrior into his mouth very soon and without hesitation, the game would be up.  
So he did. He tipped his head forward and captured the tip of Alistair's erection between soft lips.

"Oh," Alistair groaned, eyes wide with the shock of sensation, "Ze-,"  
Zevran dug a thumb into Alistair's thigh, darting his eyes up to look at the warrior. His mouth was full of cock, but his eyes could communicate well enough anyway.  
He saw the message received as Alistair's eyes hardened again, concentration re-asserting itself.

Zevran made a bit of a show of laving his tongue over Alistair's not inconsiderable length. It was working well, if the lewd expression on the face of the guard in his peripheral vision was any indication.   
And it truly was no hardship to rub his mouth along the clean golden skin of his companion. There was the faint smell of fine leather and the basic soap the warrior used, as well as the slightly musky scent that was his own. This was _far_ superior to any of the alternatives. He just hoped that the final cost would not be too great.

When Zevran looked up, he noticed the young man's face was flickering from cool hauteur to boyish surprise and enthusiasm. When he looked down at Zevran's mouth moving over him he flushed. Zevran's eyes went sharp, willing him to find some ennui. Alistair cleared his throat, glancing up at the ceiling, trying again to compose himself.

"Sure seems to like it," the guard said with a leer, glancing down at Zevran's lap, noticing the taut bulge the elf sported under his thin silk garment. 

Alistair missed the implication (a small mercy), but responded well enough anyway. "Like I said, well trained," he replied, voice tight.

"I'm not for buggery m'self. But 'e's such a pretty thing," the drunk guard muttered from the back of the room. "Could almost pretend it was a woman with all that golden hair." 

As he dipped his head forward to envelop more of Alistair's erection with his mouth, Zevran momentarily wondered if Alistair might employ such a strategy. Despite those flickers he'd seen at his own innuendos, he'd also seen Alistair cast admiring gazes at their warden friend's revealing mage robes once she'd shed the heavy garment so characteristic of these stodgy Fereldans in favor of a witch's garb. Or the curve of Leliana's smooth thighs as she would recline against her bedroll, legs outstretched, playing her lute for them. 

Zevran refocused his efforts, slipping his mouth over the warrior's pulsing erection, avoiding the use of his tongue and cheeks that he might have otherwise employed. Such behavior would bring him to a finish too soon and would not serve their purposes. He concentrated on making his head angle and twist in ways that would look impressive, but wouldn't do much to change the sensation for Alistair. 

"Oh, ey, can 'e do that thing where he swallows you all the way?" the guard said, leering at the spectacle.

"Ah," he managed, glancing at the guard who spoke, then jerking his gaze away in dismay at seeing the strange man watch him have his cock sucked. 

Alistair's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He glanced down at Zevran, who looked back at him with an affirmative waggle of his eyebrows and slight smirk in his eyes. _As though such a simple technique would be beyond a Crow_ , he scoffed mentally.

Alistair looked away abruptly, cleared his throat with a cough.  
"Of course he can," he said, going for bored but coming out a bit reedy. 

Zevran took that as his cue, and gripped Alistair's hips firmly, even as he felt them tense below his fingers.   
"Oh," came the soft sound in his throat, not sure what was about to happen, but definitely anticipating something. 

Zevran took him halfway into his mouth and loosened his jaw, taking a measured breath. He flattened his tongue under Alistair's cock before he pushed forward, swallowing just so to trick his throat into accepting the intrusion. 

Three-quarters of his cock disappearing into the elf's throat, Alistair could be heard to bite back a moan on a gulp.

Then Zevran did it again, pressing forward and swallowing, sliding even further, till his nose brushed the soft red-gold curls that peeked out from Alistair's loosened trousers and his chin brushed against his bollocks through the leather. The entire length of Alistair's rather large cock was gone from view, embedded in the assassin's distended mouth. 

Alistair whimpered, face drawing tight.

"Andraste's flaming tits," the second guard muttered, moving closer to see Alistair's sizeable member so thoroughly engulfed in the smaller elf's throat.

Zevran's muscles worked on reflex, tightening and pulsing around Alistair as his body fought to eject the intrusion, to reopen his airway. Zevran easily ignored his body's impulses, maintaining his deep penetration.

"So 'ows it feel, guv?" the guard asked, sounding almost wistful.

"Brilliant," he managed tightly, voice losing the hard edge of a seasoned slave-trainer and sounding rather more like the boyish warrior he was. He blinked a few times as though trying to clear his head.  
Zevran waited, staring up at him, not daring to withdraw for the fact that such a move would further test Alistair's control. A novice would have choked and jerked back for oxygen long ago, but Zevran was far from a novice at such things. 

When his friend's face looked a little less wild, and Zevran's breath was pressing more urgently at his chest he slipped back, gasping faintly as his throat was freed again. He resumed his basic sucking bob, beginning to use his tongue a bit more. This had likely been sufficient proof of his abilities by now, based on the way the two guards in his peripheral vision looked, completely distracted from their posts.   
He was quite pleased with his friend's strength of will, resisting the urge to lose himself too quickly to the sensations. It made him happier still that he could now choose to bring Alistair to his fill with some use of his favorite talents after all. 

He could feel the tensing of Alistair's body as he suppressed moans and other noises as Zevran rippled his tongue along the secret sensitive places on his cock, sliding along the divot at the end, digging in against the throbbing vein along the underside with his forward stroke.

"Again," Alistair said, voice almost hoarse as he looked down at Zevran's face, sensual lips engulfing him in soft wet heat.  
Zevran gazed up at him again, struggling to keep his expression neutral as he took in the flushed golden cheeks and hot eyes of the young warrior at his mercy. Or rather, whose bidding he was now doing. He was surprised at Alistair's order, but perhaps more than that he was _aroused_ \- and not a little proud that his technique had been appreciated. The tightness in his groin was uncomfortable, but he knew how to ignore such things.

He took another measured breath, and then drew himself all the way over Alistair again, eyelids drooping in pleasure as he swallowed him down. Oh how he enjoyed bringing others to their delight with just his mouth alone. It always excited him to do so, especially when said person was as beautiful and strong and dangerous as his friend was.

Alistair's leg shook slightly as he braced himself against the sensation again, hips rocking forward against his volition. Zevran moved with him, anticipating the thrust. He moaned slightly as he twisted his head, increasing the pressure on Alistair's cock as he drew back once more.

"By the maker," Alistair groaned, despite himself.  
Zevran redoubled his efforts, head whipping back and forth as he sucked harder and moved his tongue more cleverly than before. Alistair was gasping short little breaths, shifting his leg slightly as his knee threatened to buckle. He was getting close, and Zevran kept up his elevated pace.

"Mmph," he moaned, biting his lip. His large calloused hands jerked up reflexively to clamp on either side of Zevran's head, yanking the elf forward and thrusting himself deep into Zevran's throat, head tipped back in ecstasy. It was rather uncomfortable, but Zevran did not mind. It meant he was bringing his friend pleasure even in this strange situation.

Alistair tugged again, uncontrollably, embedding himself as far as possible, then groaned low and loud, his uninhibited nature coming through despite himself as he crashed over his peak. Hot splashes of liquid gushed into Zevran's throat and he swallowed it down, sucking hard through till the end, giving Alistair as much pleasure as he could. Alistair moaned again, head tipped back as he savored the orgasm, fingers stroking over Zevran's hair.

Then, abruptly, Alistair released his head and jerked back. Zevran sat back and lowered his face, folding his hands in his lap as was appropriate his role as he gasped slightly for breath. He also used the motion to hide the bulge in his pants as he focused on quieting his own lust. Zevran kept his face neutral, and prepared himself to spring to action if the guards did not decide in their favor after all.

Alistair stared at him, wide-eyed for a brief moment, gasping. Zevran maintained his perfect subservient gaze, not meeting his eyes and staying in character.   
The moment was upon them. 

"See?" Alistair panted, face growing dark. "Far better than you could ever afford," he said, shoving himself back into his clothing with rough hands. 

"I s'pose you're right guv," one of them said with a sigh.

"Now, unless you'd like me to explain to your commander why exactly it is you've delayed his treat…"  
This time he did not wait for a further response. In their curiosity both guards had ended up closer to the entrance than the two intruders, leaving the inside door exposed. This time he simply drew Zevran to his feet and started walking forward like he owned the fortress. 

Zevran felt a swell of excitement, the same one he always got when a mission was a success. He also felt a burst of pride at how well Alistair was handling it all, despite his probably overwhelming sexual experience and nerves.   
Together they moved past the third guard who was too busy fondling himself under the table and drinking even more from his canteen to be bothered. Still, none of them argued, and eventually, one of the soldiers simply scrambled after them, saying "Follow me."


	4. There are worse ways to go.

They were guided along a wending path of tall vaulted corridors, most of which had attached to them rooms made visible through half-closed doors, many of which were filled with guards and garrisoned soldiers. 

Zevran kept an eye out for shortcuts, or places to avoid, but it looked like for the most part, it would be ideal to push straight through if they were to go this way out. He hoped the warden had some strength left for her to help them with her magics, because if the guards were alerted, it could be a tough fight if she was unable to assist them. And by tough, Zevran was relatively certain he meant impossible.

When they were ushered in to the commander's chamber, and the door shut behind them, Alistair stepped forward again, in command still.

"A gift. From Arl Howe," Alistair said, his voice flat.

The Captain sat back, looking more pleased than he should as his callow eyes skimmed over Zevran's form. Excellent. 

This now was a simple matter. Zevran had done this part many times. His small knife had been retrieved from its hiding place and was readied in his palm.

He knelt in the center of the room and Alistair removed the elf's cloak and stepped back, just as they had planned.  
"Come, inspect him and make sure he is to your liking," he said, the mantle of his role settled well over his shoulders now. Zevran once again felt admiration burble at how well his friend had succeeded through the mission.

Yes, it was a simple matter now.   
The man kicked back from his table.   
Neared.   
Observed Zevran's body with lascivious eyes.   
Lowered his guard to look at Alistair and speak in the affirmative.   
Zevran slipped up like liquid rushing from a tipped barrel, knife coming out in a quick slash across an exposed neck. He stepped out of the spray of arterial blood. 

The captain fell to the blood red carpet at Alistair's feet, staining it crimson with his life's liquid.

"See? It is just as I said. Ah, works like a charm, this plan. I shall have to tell you some time about the last time I infiltrated as someone's trained whore - it is quite the tale!" he said cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood as he made for the desk, riffling through the contents, stuffing into his pockets anything that might be useful, mostly papers and keys.

"Really, you would think they'd know better than this," he said with a laugh as he lifted the key with a tag on it that said "Master".

He cleaned the short blade on the commander's blotter, then moved back over to the body. He took the weapons belt the man wore, taking the longer familiar dagger Alistair extended to him.

Equipped once more he struck a characteristic pose, hip cocked. "A bit underdressed for the occasion, but no matter. Shall we go rescue our fair leader?" he asked, grinning as he twirled the key around his finger.

Zevran felt a cold knot form in his chest when he realized Alistair wasn't meeting his eyes. Oh, the warrior would glance at his general direction, and offer a half-hearted smile at his banter. But he was grimly countenanced otherwise, and his eyes were most definitely not to be held.

So. Their friendship was to be injured after all, it would seem.   
The warden's life was worth his personal suffering. But…  
Well, that was for another time. Now they had enemies to kill.

Alistair seemed to have used up all his initiative during the ruse, and Zevran really could not blame him. It had been quite the challenging experience after all. So Zevran led the way back out of the commander's office, sneaking past the chantry sister blessing her soldiers and various guards at their posts.

He used the key to open the great door to the vaulted room that separated the keep from the dungeons. The element of surprise worked in their favor, letting them slit the throats of two guards before the others across the way saw. It would take a quick dash across the huge vulnerable expanse of stone that was the open room, but they could make it. Their enemies would never turn the ballistae in time. Opposite them were only a few off-duty guards half out of their armor and a battle-axe of a guard sergeant just coming off duty, her helmet missing.

Just as they were about to surge across, the door across from them exploded into the room, bits of smoldering wood scattering into the room. When the bright orange flames cleared they could see their friend the warden, rage hot on her face. Fire flowed around her, licking into the off-duty guards and hapless sergeant. She was wild-eyed as she whirled to face them, and Zevran prepared himself to dive out of the way of a misplaced fireball.

But her look cleared as she laid eyes on them, then her eyes went bright with joy and perhaps even a few unshed tears. Then she strode forward as they came towards her, throwing her arms around them both briefly.   
"Ah, my dear warden. Did you miss me?" he asked with a saucy wink. This earned him a hard poke to his belly and a half-hearted wry smile.  
Half her face was purpling with some pretty wicked bruising, and Zevran's experienced eye could tell that she was not walking with quite her normal stride… He felt the grim weight of understanding settle into his chest at the sight.  
But she was alive, and empowered with her magics, and more or less unharmed. Even managing a smile. Zevran felt a great rush of relief.

"I see you didn't really need us after all. I guess we shouldn't have gone through all the trouble," Alistair said, attempting jovial, but with a bitter tone edging into his voice, so out of place in the man's normally sunny character. His head ticked towards Zevran on reflex as he said it, but he checked the movement, his eyes no higher than the assassin's chin. Drawing down on some of that Templar concentration once more, he turned himself away.

Zevran knew his responding grimace was visible, though he tried to stifle it.

She looked between them, clearly aware there was more going on, but prudent as ever she knew it was not the time to ask. She stepped close to Alistair and took his arm, shaking her head fiercely. "I could never have made it all the way alone," she said.

Her words had the sincere ring of truth, though Zevran suspected that the "all the way" to which she referred was purposefully vague so that she could reassure a clearly off-kilter Alistair. The woman had been a raging ball of wrathful mage that had not looked even _close_ to slowing as she stormed the guard chamber.

"Shall we?" Zevran said, voice tighter than he'd been going for.

"Indeed," she said, starting to stride the length of bare stone under huge arched vaulted ceilings towards the door Zevran had opened.

"So my dear friend, I take it our way in is also to be our way out?" Zevran asked, glancing about the room.

She nodded firmly. "Only heavy fortification back that way. Think we can do it?" she asked, looking at him.

"But of course!" he replied, and knew she saw his _50/50_ assessment in his eyes and the quirk of his mouth. "We merely have to sneak past an entire garrison and then get through the front gate in our… usual fashion," he added.

"A mere trifle," she replied with a wry frown.

They carried out at a steady pace then, the light of her magecraft quieted to assist in their temporary fortune at remaining undiscovered. Alistair was silent behind them, moving lighter and faster than usual, un-weighted by shield or armor. 

The fact that she chose to sneak past the unsuspecting soldiers in the first few rooms spoke volumes about how exhausted she really was. Zevran would have been tempted to put money on her stopping to take them out, based on her habitual obsession with eradicating any enemy. Clearly, getting out of there fast was the most important task now.

It made for a swift exit. He almost was disappointed not to get to sink his blade into a few of their enemies. It certainly would have distracted him from the way his thoughts kept turning towards Alistair, and the way his emotions rebelled against whatever attitude he tried to muster. Yes, slaying a few enemies would do them all some good.

He was infinitely relieved, however, when she launched a huge fireball through the front guard chamber, turning any occupants into either a pile of ash, or people too distracted by being on fire to make any fuss, allowing them all to crash through the room without pausing.   
Or almost. Alistair turned at the last moment when one of the guards lurched towards them, beheading the man with one fierce stroke.   
Then it was done.  
They erupted into the cold night air, rushing away from the chaotic cries and remnants of fire that were left in their wakes.

At her triumphant laugh, Zevran could not resist grabbing her up in his arms for a twirl, remarking in like spirit.  
"There is nothing quite like leaving through the front door, is there, my beautiful warden?"

He turned on reflex to share the joy of survival with their third companion, but the other man was looking away, eyes shut tightly, lips a taut line, body rigid with tension.   
Ah yes, the mission had not been a resounding success for all of them.

His sword dripped crimson blood into the snow beneath him, and with a methodical motion he flicked it clean and sheathed it.  
"If you wouldn't mind, perhaps we could, I don't know, get out of here?" he said tightly.

"Of course, my friend," Zevran replied, voice far more curt than he had intended. Solona pursed her lips at him for it, and Zevran turned sharply on his heel and struck out on point. 

 

He cursed low and creatively the entire march back to safety.


	5. It is behind us, no?

"Talk" she said, coming to sit on the sill beside the assassin. 

He was watching from one of the estate's high windows, looking down into the rear courtyard where Alistair was practicing his forms again - or perhaps _still_ was the more appropriate word. He had seen him doing them at dawn, and hadn't seen him at the morning or midday meals.

Clearly she knew something was wrong - had known since the moment she'd seen Alistair's face. He knew she knew.  
But he didn't know what to say. To her, or to the young warrior. So he defaulted to _Zevran the Assassin_  
"Shall I tell you of the fine lands of Antiva? Or perhaps one of my daring escapades as a crow," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her, teasing, as he slipped from his uncharacteristically vulnerable pose. He had been sitting there, leaning against the window through which he had been watching, with his arms around both his knees tucked up beside him.   
He relaxed into a more characteristically 'Zevran' position, arms loose, one wrist draped over a single upturned knee.  
"Or do you wish more… delectable nothings whispered in your ear, my lovely mage?" he murmured, smiling lazily at her.

She just raised an eyebrow in response.  
"I see" she said quietly, a faintly sad and generally unfathomable look on her face. She touched a warm hand to his leg, squeezed it gently, looking at him with a wistful smile.  
And then she left. 

And suddenly, Zevran felt more bared open than if she had pestered him till he'd spilled the whole distasteful story. As if he'd told her every detail of his guilt where the young man was concerned.   
She had come looking to side with Alistair, of that he was sure.   
His façade had cracked. Something had given him away. He did not like it. He did not like it at all.

He gazed down at the yard, where Alistair was bent over, gasping deep heaving breaths, bared muscles of his back taut.   
He was not good at these things, these _relationships_ that the warden so insisted on developing.   
But, in the secret place in his heart, the one he was carefully nurturing away from the harsh realities of the world, he knew that they were precious to him. And while he had little experience with those friendships, the young man in the courtyard had even less experience with thing of the sort which Zevran had inflicted on him.  
Alistair straightened, still breathing hard, and fell into the first positions of his practice form.  
 _again_  
He would try, then.

 

It was Alistair who approached him, however, knocking softly at his door that evening while he was still pacing his room, mustering his words and his courage to apologize to Alistair.   
It was not often he found himself preempted.

When Zevran opened the door, Alistair met his eyes. He did not look happy. His caramel eyes were cloudy with the mixture of emotions the warrior was feeling. But Zevran felt a small part of the coldness in his chest loosen; he could see those eyes, see his friend! Alistair was no longer hiding his gaze. Perhaps then some fragment would be salvageable between them. He stepped back, motioning Alistair to follow him into his appointed bedroom at the Arl's estate.

"Alistair, I must apologize-," he began, shutting the door behind them, hand still sitting on the doorknob.

"No, please, let me... Zevran,"  
The other man turned away, going to stand next to a low-backed chaise lounge that sat in the center of Zevran's room, facing the fireplace. 

Obliging him, Zevran stepped further into his room, leaning against the other end of the lounge, waiting for Alistair's words. He steeled himself for kind explanations of why they could no longer be friends, or accusations about his arousal during his assault on Alistair's body. 

Alistair grimaced and glanced at him. "I owe you such an apology. And again for my cowardice these past two days putting this off.

"Eh?" Zevran said, confused.

"What you had to do. It was all my fault. If I'd listened more carefully, done better instead of being so… foolish, so naïve… Agh...Maker I'm so, so very sorry," he said, pressing the heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes. 

"Oh Alistair," Zevran said softly, shaking his head with a smile that held no mirth.

Alistair turned a bleak look on him. 

Once more he felt the vivid surprise that someone cared enough about _him_ to feel such anguish on his behalf. Regardless, the young man need feel no such concern.

"Alistair, please. It was nothing."

And then, where he had expected something like relief, the most extraordinary expression crossed the young man's face. Hurt? Disappointment? It was only there for a moment before it was beaten back swiftly by the hot red flush of shame.

And once again Zevran regretted his quickly-chosen words.  
He had implied that the young man's first sexual experience was nothing. It could hardly feel that way to someone so young and so repressed. 

Sometimes it was hard for the elf to remember that there were those who hadn't had sex trained into them like he, but rather, trained out of them by the damned chantry. But he supposed at this point, discussing such things would only upset the man further.

"Alistair, it is done. Would you not rather we simply put this behind us?"

"Oh there are a great number of things I'd rather be doing right now than talk about… " he laughed nervously, 'like I'd really rather go kill some darkspawn. Or read poetry to Morrigan. Or brush the Mabari's teeth," he listed, deflecting with humor. 

Zevran smiled fondly. They had that much in common still.  
"See? Then it is settled; we shall move on to more preferred tasks," he said, offering his friend an easy smile and an aimless gesture to hide his own tense feelings.

But then the young man's face quieted and he gripped the sofa tightly.  
"But you don't understand the depth of my transgression. I must tell you if you are ever to forgive me."

"I knew the risks going in, my young friend," Zevran said dismissively. He was out of his depth when it came to innocent young men and their complicated emotions. He felt confused by this whole thing, and it was getting frustrating. It was _he_ who ought to be bearing the brunt of this, not Alistair.  
"I should have better prepared you for the possibilities. I am touched that you sought to protect me from those fools, but it was-,"

"But that's not it," Alistair interrupted sharply, a hint of that hardness coming into his voice. "That's not all of it." His head lowered and arms went tight. He seemed to be forcing himself to speak by his strength. "You see, I just couldn't let them have you, not like that" he said.   
"I'm so sorry," he said, the soft voice of the terribly wounded young man returning. "I was selfish. I wanted you to myself, and I... _took_ what I… what I wanted. I took advantage of the situation."

Zevran blinked. That had _not_ been what he had expected to hear. But he remembered Alistair's bulging erection even before he had laid hands on him. The excitement of such a potential experience must have been nearly overwhelming and perhaps confusing for the repressed young warrior. 

Zevran never thought to blame him for jumping at the opportunity - he would have done so himself without hesitation! But Alistair was naïve enough not to realize that Zevran could have (and indeed had) enjoyed it too. Perhaps if he explained...  
"Believe me, my friend. It was not so selfish as you think," he said carefully, easing closer to the young man. 

"But I practically _ordered_ you to … to-," he blushed, stumbling even now over the words he had so confidently spoken days previous.

"Suck you off? Yes, you did in fact," Zevran supplied with a pleased smirk.

"Oh Maker," Alistair whispered.

"Believe me my young friend. It was much more pleasant than if I'd had to deal with those two fools. No, it is I who am sorry that your first such experience was so ruined," Zevran said, crossing his arms. 

"No… Zev, it, _you_ were… amazing. Don't you see? That's why I'm sorry. I _enjoyed_ it. _Maker_ , how I enjoyed having you...I had no right.  
Alistair turned, looking down at Zevran. His eyes were dark with the strength of his emotions, his brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, but he hesitated when Zevran pursed his lips, gaze drawn to them. Then his face flushed hotly red and he closed his eyes briefly.

Zevran sighed. That cursed Fereldan chantry and its strange obsession with shame. The elf moved closer, putting a hand on his friend's arm.   
"And if you had not enjoyed it, our ruse would not have worked, and our warden friend would be lost to us," he raised an eyebrow, "Not to mention that _I_ would be rather put out that all my favorite skills had somehow become ineffective from disuse."

"You don't understand," Alistair said, jerking away to pace a few steps into the room, an almost plaintive tone coming into his voice. He paced back, balled up frustration visible in his hands.

"Perhaps I do not. But it is behind us, no?" Zevran said, tilting his head slightly.

Alistair let out an exasperated sound and abruptly closed the distance between them, tipping his head down to press his lips against Zevran's. The elf could feel his muscles under his hand bunching as the young warrior pulled him towards himself.

The kiss was chaste by any standards - except perhaps those of a man raised by the narrow-minded Fereldan chantry. And that fact made it powerful and electric as Zevran felt the man's soft lips against his own for the first time. His eyes were wide and lust shot straight to his core as Alistair kissed him, face flushed, body stiff, eyes screwed shut. It was only the merest touching of lips, over almost before it had begun. 

"No," Alistair said, lifting his head and frowning ferociously, eyes full of complex emotion. "I don't think it is."

For once, Zevran could not compose his face into anything as the warrior stepped back jerkily, gazing at him with a grim set to his lips. Then Alistair turned and exited his quarters in an abrupt sweep of motion.


	6. Simple Pleasures

Zevran did not know what to do with this. 

He knew what to do with many sorts of men and women, how to seduce them, earn their trust, or deceive them.   
But this? This young man, his friend. These feelings in his chest… no. The Antivan assassin did not know what to do with _feelings_. 

" _Brasca_ ," he cursed at himself in his reflection as he paced back and forth across his room. 

It was relatively opulent, considering his standing here in Fereldan, just the rough assassin who happened to be traveling with the outcast Gray Wardens. Though generous, it was another thing that tended to cause those difficult _feelings_ ; the way both Wardens stood up for the hodge-podge members of their party, insisting they get like treatment with their own rooms when available. 

Their Gray Warden leader was somewhat of a marvel. 

Aha! That would be his solution. Solona would know what to do! She had never looked upon him with scorn, instead she had always cared for him and enjoyed what he had to offer. Making love to her had been excellent fun, and somehow more. Oh, she had kept things light, treated him with a platonic love even as they enjoyed each other's bed. But she was... kind. 

Never scornful - not even when he had foolishly tried to give her that trinket of his, not understanding the urge to do so. She had been patient with his pathetic attempts to understand his emotions when they ventured beyond his characteristic simple hedonistic perspectives. She had always listened to him, hearing his words and never dismissing him as insubstantial or showering him with pity. She just accepted who he was. 

He marched out of his quarters and down the hall to the warden's room. She was not there, door left wide open as was the habit from her days in the circle. That was a behavior he understood. Privacy was dangerous in such places. Better to simply leave things open, avoid suspicion. 

He considered returning to his room to wait for her, but the tension in his chest had him itching to move, to find some solution, so he decided to continue his search, moving downstairs to the sitting room their party frequented most often with its soft couches and warm fireplace. However, as he neared the open door, he knew that he had been beaten to the punch. He heard the soft sound of Alistair's voice - one, he realized, he would recognize anywhere in an instant. Solona's voice murmured in return. 

He knew he ought to turn away, but he could not resist the urge that had him slipping up next to the doorway and peering into the gap. A decorative mirror on one wall allowed him a vantage that did not have him exposing his presence past the door frame. 

Alistair was sitting in the center of one of the sofas, his face buried in his hands, elbows on his knees. He spoke quietly, so much so that Zevran could only hear the murmur of his voice, not make out any of the words. His fellow warden was sitting next to him, arm around his broad back, other hand stroking his hair gently, soothing him as she listened, a patient and sympathetic look on her face. 

Unexpected emotions rushed through Zevran at the sight. He was very surprised at the brief and bitter tang of jealousy he felt watching their leader stroke the red-gold hair on Alistair's head. He had never been the sort to offer comfort, but part of him wanted to be the one stroking Alistair's emotion away. Less surprising was the sympathy he felt for his friend at his obvious upset, as well as the not inconsiderable spiral of heat in his belly. But then a burst of self-loathing accompanied the lascivious feeling, jerking him back into the realm of _very confused elf_. 

He was definitely not used to feeling so many things at once. 

He began considering his options, assessing the routes of escape and persuasion as was his training's demand. 

Part of him thought to go in there and try to tease his friend's sadness away and ignore it all with a shallow exterior. Or perhaps to lure the young man into his bed - damn the consequences! Part of him wanted to run and never come back. 

The rest of him knew that none of those things were options. He could neither approach the young man in his usual fashions, nor retreat without losing everything that had grown precious to him. 

With a silent huff of frustrated breath he slipped away from the door, making for the courtyard. Perhaps some calisthenics would clear his mind. Not that they had seemed to help much for the young warrior. 

And then that thought brought the memory of Alistair, half-naked in the gleaming dawn, coated in a fine sheen of sweat, the cool air around him steaming in response to the heat of his body as he practiced his basics over and over, wielding the heavy long-sword as if it weighed no more than one of Zevran's daggers. 

He wished desperately that Leliana were there. She understood him best of all in some ways. She had not had to quash her emotions quite so ruthlessly as he - at least not for so long. And she never had experienced _quite_ the darkness of his background, despite the certain horrors inflicted at the hands of her torturers after Marjolaine's betrayal. But she knew why he was not as the others were - why he worked so hard to stay teasing and simple with everyone and care for none. 

But when he reached the courtyard, he realized that the sun had dipped below the horizon long ago, and he had no desire to chase at shadows, not that night anyway. So he ended up right back where he started, pacing his room alone. 

But this time the bottle of Antivan brandy caught his eye. A gift that had been so thoughtfully given him, sitting next to his bed. Ah yes, a reminder of simpler pleasures. He made for the bottle, sitting down on the bed and uncorking it with a twist. He kicked off his boots and sat back against the headboard, taking a healthy sip or three. Or four. He gazed at the fire and tried to remind himself how fortunate he was to have a warm, safe bed to sleep in. To forget about the complicated things. 

It wasn't long before the fuzzy warmth spread from his throat and belly up through his body and into his mind, dulling the sharpest edges of his emotions. It also began to make it more difficult for Zevran to keep his thoughts from straying back to the sensation of Alistair's warm lips against his own. Or better yet, the sight of his toned body rippling and straining in the courtyard. Or best of all, his flushed cheeks as seen from the vantage of a kneeling Zevran, mouth hot on the young man's delicious erection. 

It was too much for the likes of him. He just didn't have the training to deal with _wanting_ for something this way. He was used to the absolutes. He never pined for things he couldn't have. He enjoyed the things he could. He did not know what to do with the _maybe_ , the possibility that Alistair might be offering. Oh it was not a matter of _could_. It was a matter of _should_

Zevran groaned, taking another hefty drink of brandy as he tried to ignore the tautness of his trousers. Alistair was his _friend_ \- no, not just a friend. Solona was his friend after all, and they had left each other's beds, comfortable at a simple sensual level. But Alistair, there was something _more_ there, something he didn't really understand, but something he knew made it so bedding him could not just be some sensual pleasure he could engage in and forget. 

Zevran the assassin was not equipped for anything else, was he? And since he was not, he had nothing to offer the young man. Nothing at all, he told himself, so he tried to quash the memories. 

But the images refused to leave. He drank more, but it did nothing to help. The feeling of Alistair's hands in his hair, groaning as he took his pleasure in Zevran's mouth, it was like a ghost, feathering at his skin. The sight of him, the scent. It was not long before he stoppered the bottle before laying himself flat on his bed. 

Perhaps there would be no harm in a little self-pleasure, he decided, tugging at the laces of his trousers till he could free his straining bulge from the leather. It was a great relief to free himself, to cup his length in his calloused palm. He sighed, beginning a slow stroke and tug. 

He tried imagining his favorite things, or some of his memories from nights spent in their warden leader's arms, but they felt inadequate somehow, exquisite though they were. He tried focusing on his physical sensations, the simplest pleasure of hands on hot hard flesh. But the alcohol made that worse as well, dampening the sensations so that they were just below the threshold to tip himself over easily. He stroked and pulled, twisted and gripped, but he could not reach his peak. His erection was almost achingly hard. 

His body was desperate for release, but his mind needed to be on the same page it seemed. Well. And why not accept his natural inclinations? Certainly the young warrior would be on his mind, considering recent events. There was no harm in a fantasy or two between friends, no? He was certain the others must do the same from time to time. It was not as though he thought of Alistair _particularly_ often when he did so. Not more so than their other delicious companions or memories of lovers past. 

_Liar_ that voice in the back of his mind said, but he ignored it, palming himself gently and bringing his desires forth. 

The memories of Alistair standing over him, moaning, thrusting into his throat rushed into the forefront of his mind. His hand moved faster with clearer focus as his body reacted to the vibrant images. 

And then his mind went further, into the what-ifs. What if Alistair were here now? Would he return the favor, blushing and stuttering over his attempt? Or would he charge into the fray, surpassing his fears as he had each and every instance these past months? 

Oh, the latter, Zevran thought, groaning as he imagined Alistair coming to him with that fierce determination, challenging himself and Zevran at every turn. 

The elf stroked a hand up under his tunic, gripping his torso how he imagined Alistair might, if he were thrusting into him from behind. 

His hips jerked up off the bed as he arched in orgasm, the pent up lust from the past few days erupting in a rough and desperate peak. He spilled himself into his hands and onto his belly, panting for breath as he sagged back against the bed. 

He shut his eyes and sighed in frustration.   
Ah, he had made the mistake after all, fantasizing over what he should never have.   
The bitter weight of it all settled into the pit of his stomach.


	7. Alistair's (yeah, ok, Solona's) Plan

"So you see? I've ruined everything," Alistair said, hands fisted on his thighs, head hanging between hunched shoulders.  
Solona did see, and she frowned. She briefly considered going immediately to Zevran just to make sure he wasn't planning on taking his leave of them. Though Alistair hadn't spoken of it, (and likely had missed any signs of it) she had seen for herself that Zevran was feeling a great deal of internal conflict and even guilt about the whole debacle. 

"What did Zevran say when you apologized?" she asked.

Alistair grunted, gesturing dismissively.  
"He _thanked_ me for taking advantage of him. He tried to pass it off as though it were nothing. He even tried to pretend that he had enjoyed it!"

Solona was glad that Alistair chose that moment to bury his face in his hands again, because she was trying (and failing) not to let her amusement show at that last statement.

"And what makes you think he wasn't being honest?" she asked, squeezing his shoulder. "To me, that doesn't seem like something he would lie about."

Alistair glanced at her, a brief flicker of surprised hope coming into his eyes. But then he shrugged uncomfortably.  
"He was using that voice, the one he puts on for… teasing, or inappropriate levity," he murmured. "When he pretends to be shallow or that something didn't hurt him."

Ah, so she wasn't the only one who could see and hear the masks Zevran wore.   
"And what if he was using that voice to hide something other than what you assume?" she said, raising her eyebrows at him and offering him a partial smile.

Alistair's mouth opened, then shut again and he settled for looking plaintively confused. 

"You know, he doesn't have much more experience with these things than you," she said, tilting her head and smiling wryly at him.

That earned her an incredulous and sardonic look.  
"He has more experience with his left foot than I've had in my entire life," Alistair muttered, gesturing curtly at his leg. He tilted his head, then added, "Probably literally."

She smirked and smacked the young warrior on the arm. "Well yes, if you're just talking about bedding him. And if that's all you want, then just tell him that and enjoy the ride. I'm sure he'd be relieved to indulge you in something he's more familiar with and get back to the way things were. But I don't think that's what you want, is it? Well, not _all_ you want."

Alistair blushed, then shook his head.

"So if you want something more, tell him that too."

At Alistair's terrified look, she sighed and shook her head. "I don't mean you need to declare your undying love or anything so foolish. Just spend some time with him, one to one. See what happens. Show him that you are interested in more than his body. But do _tell_ him that you want more than friendship, and more than sex so he can figure out what he wants as well. Don't expect him to read your mind."

Alistair pouted. Then he looked up at her hopefully. "Solona, you understand. Perhaps you could-,"

She crossed her arms and glared at him.  
"No. But," she added when he looked crestfallen, "I will help with some plans."  
Alistair looked nervous. "Ah... you know how _us_ and _plans_ usually turn out, right?"

She just grinned at him. "Well then I'm sure you'll have an interesting day."  
"That's the understatement of the age," he muttered.

 

\-----

"Hi Zevran," Alistair said, a touch too brightly as the elf entered the dining hall. It was mostly empty, as the hour was a bit late for normal breakfasting. Of course, the appetites of two Grey Wardens had them both sitting there still with two full plates, a handful of empty ones stacked between them.   
Zevran favored him with a nod, looking vaguely in their direction but meeting the gaze of neither. His face was neutral mostly because of the dampening feeling of his pounding headache and the way he had to concentrate on not feeling nauseous on his empty stomach which simultaneously rebelled against him for walking and begged him to stuff his face. 

It didn't, however, manage to stop the pulse of relief he felt that Alistair appeared neither angry nor upset anymore. Their leader was truly had a magic touch with more than her mage-craft to have untangled what had seemed to Zevran to be a completely untenable knot of thoughts and emotions.

He made for the sideboard and selected a few bits of bread and fruit for his plate, then carried it to the nearest seat at the table, a few seats separated from the two wardens. He was too drained, he decided, to look up at the young warrior. He ignored the voice in his head that called him a coward for avoiding looking at the man, though he could clearly see he was being looked upon in his peripheral vision. 

He could see Alistair dart a glance over at Solona, and he also tracked the nudging elbow she dug into the warrior's ribs, along with the encouraging gesture she waved over at him. Alistair stood, turning towards Zevran and made it a pace before he turned away.

Hah, he told his inner voice. Me, I am not the only coward in the room.

But then Alistair turned once more, this time with his plate in hand - never separate a grey warden from his food! He moved hesitantly closer, then stepped over the bench to sit next to Zevran.   
Ah. Ever brave, that one.  
He didn't say anything at first, just popped another grape into his mouth and sat, looking at the assassin. Waiting. 

When Zevran looked up finally to meet his gaze he felt a sharp twinge in his chest at the expression on Alistair's face. The young man looked a little shy, pleased - or perhaps fond… his lips quirked in a faint smile as his caramel eyes gazed back at the assassin. He leaned his chin on the palm of his hand, resting his elbow against the table as he nibbled at a bit of cheese.  
"Hello, Zevran," Alistair said, voice mellow and sensual as he said the elf's name. 

Zevran felt his throat tighten in dismay. He did not know what to do with this look. It was not lurid - he would deal easily with lurid by flirting shamelessly. It was not friendly - he would joke and laugh in response to friendly.  
He did not understand it.  
"Hello my friend," he replied after a pause, not knowing what else to say.

Alistair's smile only grew at his discomfiture. The warrior turned his attention to his plate again and started speaking in between bites of breakfast.  
"Solona thinks I should spend today shopping around Denerim, eavesdropping and generally just enjoying myself a little since we have a little time to kill while the others are gone."

Zevran just stared at his food, concentrating on chewing though a hunk of bread. He felt a bit of discomfort at the idea of the young warrior out on the town by himself in light of all the recent politicking.

Alistair popped another grape into his mouth and continued rambling along good-naturedly, "I think that sound rather boring to do by myself, but she refuses to come," he said, casting a playful glare at the warden up the table who was pointedly ignoring them as she dug into her meal.  
"So I was wondering, Zevran," he said, pausing to smirk slightly as he said the elf's name, "whether you would like to accompany me."

Zevran stared at him blankly.

"We can go for a walk… grab a meal at the pub. Spend some time together, if you'd like?" he said hopefully.

When Zevran didn't respond, the sweetly enticing expression on Alistair's face began to fade into hesitancy, then into embarrassment as his confidence faded in a rush.  
No, he did not understand. But he did know, suddenly, that he did not want that look on Alistair's face to disappear.  
"I would like that, my friend," Zevran said quickly.

In response, a sunny smile suffused the young warrior's features.

"Great!" he said, hopping to his feet and stepping away from the table. "I'll go get ready, and meet you at your room in, say, half an hour?"

Zevran nodded.

"Great," Alistair said again, reaching back to snag the hunk of cheese left on his plate before heading out of the dining hall, looking happy.


	8. Unfamiliar Territory

She stood (not abandoning her food either, grabbing a roll as she neared) and wandered over to sit next to Zevran as Alistair disappeared.

"Yes, yes," the Antivan assassin said, voice weary, "I will endeavor not to hurt him."  
It was on the tip of his tongue to promise to let Alistair off gently and send him on his way, no seductions, no harm done to the gentle warrior. But the words didn't come out.

"Oh, I know you won't hurt him," she said, then tilted her head "unless it's necessary," she said, smiling softly at him. She touched his shoulder, "I'm coming to tell you to take care of _yourself_ , Zevran."

"Oh, but I _always_ take care of _myself_ , dear warden," he scoffed, going for lighthearted and coming out sounding rather bitter.

"Yes, in some ways," she said with an acknowledging nod as she gnawed off a bit of bread. "But here's an idea; why not let yourself be happy?"

He had no reply to that. He could say something glib of course, and brush it all off. But...

"He likes you, you know," she continued. 

When Zevran opened his mouth to dismiss her words, she interrupted him.

"He likes _you_ ," she said with emphasis, looking into the assassin's eyes intently.

And that, perhaps, was what he was afraid of. He didn't think anyone had ever liked _him_ before. Lusted after his body, certainly, been amused and fond of his humor and wit, yes. More recently, even called him friend. But _liking_?

"I don't know what to do," he said, voice so quiet it was practically a whisper.

"Do what feels right. Trust yourself. If you want to say yes, say yes. If you want to say no, then say no. You won't hurt him, not really."

"Won't I?" he asked, thinking of the bleak and wounded look on Alistair's face the night prior. It had hurt him, the heartless assassin. 

"Not by being honest. He's tougher than he… well I was going to say _looks_ , but really he's bloody terrifying when he isn't smiling," she said with a laugh.

That got a smile out of the elf, and she reached over to squeeze his shoulder. He patted her hand lightly. Then he took her hand in his and brought her knuckles to his lips affectionately.

"And you, Solona?" he asked quietly, gazing over at her more fully. "Are you well yourself?"  
He cast a slow glance down at her lower-half, knowing she would catch his intention. She could intentionally misinterpret if she did not wish to discuss it. But he hoped he could be there for her as she had been there for him many times.

She sighed, face growing weary as she leaned against the table.  
"You would think I would be used to it after all those years in the circle under the purview of the Templars."  
Zevran frowned. "I don't think it is something one ever really could grow used to."  
"No, I suppose you're right," she said, shaking her head. "At least now the taint should make my chances of being got with-child small," she added with a bittersweet twist of her lips.

"Ah. Then we may be thankful for small mercies." 

"Don't tell Alistair, please. If he hasn't already worked it out, I'd rather he not know."

Zevran sighed, "No, I will not tell him. Though now I think it is perhaps you who is not crediting him with how much strength he has."

"Yes, but part of me wants to protect him from all the dark things in this world," she said with a grin. "He's like my giant little brother."

"And yet you would unleash me upon him?" Zevran asked with a self-mocking smile.

She sent him a withering glance. He held up his hands in play surrender.

 

_______________

 

When Zevran heard the knock on his door he was still trying to decide which daggers to bring along. He'd regained some of his usual joie de vivre, now that his stomach was no longer growling and the after effects of his overindulgence were fading. 

"Come in," he called, and Alistair let himself into the room. Zevran continued looking at the weapons laid out on his bed. 

"How much trouble do you think we'll end up in, hm?" he asked, trying to decide between a full load-out of weapons or a simple dagger and backup knife.

"Not _too_ much I hope," Alistair said, moving to stand next to him.

Zevran looked up in some surprise when he noticed the scent of leather where he had expected the metallic tang of armor polish.

Instead of plate, he wore armor of leather - in fact it was the very same set of leathers from their tumultuous rescue mission. The sight sent a jolt of lust through him, and sent his emotions tilting again.

When he noticed Zevran's gaze he grinned. "See your practicality is rubbing off on me. As much as I'd love to run around in a tunic, I know we can’t go to the pub without expecting at least a little trouble - it just wouldn't go with our luck."

"Which is why I thought you might be going in your usual plate."

"It would be silly to try and enjoy myself in all that plate, right? It would be like begging brigands to attack us if I were to wear it out and about. Besides, I like this armor."

"Do you now?" Zevran replied with slightly narrowed eyes.  
Alistair grinned in response, leaning a little closer. "For a number of reasons."

Innuendo? From Alistair?

But then the young man cleared his throat awkwardly and pointed to the lesser of Zevran's armament. "Best not tempt fate with too much weaponry."

Zevran nodded and strapped the daggers to his own leathers - not his full battle gear but a simpler leather trouser and light silk shirt with a light leather vest.

"Ready?"

"More or less," Zevran said, looking up at him. 

Alistair glanced at him shyly, then reached down to take his slim elven hand in his larger human palm. He paused a moment, threading their fingers together briefly. Both bore the callouses of constant use of weaponry, but the gentle warmth of contact with another was invigorating. 

"Come one," he said, and tugged Zevran's hand slightly before blushing and letting it go and turning to leave Zevran's room. Zevran went after him and together they made their way towards the markets.

 

It wasn't long before they fell into the easy banter of comrades. The sunny weather and bustling market did a great deal to ease the tension between them. 

And as always, Alistair was full of life, honestly interested in listening to the tales of the merchants as they plied their trade, genuinely amused by the trinkets and baubles. They joked about buying Morrigan a frilly silk dress, or Oghren a book on the history of Fereldan - or best of all, a particularly hideous hat for Leliana.

Zevran listened with half an ear to the crowd as always, however, picking up various threads of dissent about Loghain, or reports of the spread of the blight. Nothing particularly new was reported, but everything he heard confirmed much of their perceptions about the state of Fereldan.

Alistair seemed content to let Zevran's attention wander while the warrior discussed a carved statuette with a tradesman. A pair of young women who were clearly too young and naïve to be out unchaperoned in the lower markets were nearby, giggling at each other at their daring as they took turns making eyes at the oblivious warrior. Zevran had been watching them a while. When they had purchased some lengths of silk scarf and other frivolities they had been flashing far too much coin for the lower streets of Denerim. 

It was true that Zevran and Alistair both had twice as much apiece on their person - being in the grey warden's party certainly had been surprisingly bountiful. But they both knew not to tip it out so obviously in the market. The women were making themselves into easy marks for any cutpurse or thug.

When they left, Zevran kept an extra eye on their passage, so it was easy to notice the group of thugs peeling off the wall to follow them a few paces later.  
He turned to alert his young friend. But to his surprise, Alistair beat him to it, face going momentarily solemn as he gripped Zevran's shoulder and indicated the thugs with a tip of his head. "If you're up for it, I think-,"

"Yes, I noticed as well," Zevran interrupted, moving nonchalantly in a direction out of the crowd. Alistair followed him as they slipped out and closer to the alley and followed at a decent enough distance so as not to attract any attention. Sure enough, just as they rounded a corner, they heard the muffled cries of the two young women as they were beset upon by the thugs. They were not content to simply snatch their money, however, and began dragging them swiftly through a nearby warehouse door.

Silently Alistair and Zevran rushed after them, kicking the door open before it had fully closed.  
They had _not_ expected the blood mage. It had seemed to be a simple snatch and dash, or even a more sinister kidnapping with rape as the intent. But when they burst into the warehouse, swords drawn, there was a mage before them, setting up a spell as the thugs dragged the women closer.

It was to be a closer battle than a trio of thugs and a single blood-mage would usually warrant because they were both dressed down from their usual battle gear.  
Fortunately, regardless of his lack of armor, Alistair himself was not unprepared for battle. Before they could even cry out, Alistair brought some of his templar talents to bear, stunning the mage into submission. The women were tossed aside, one of them had already fainted. Zevran freed his weapon, slipping into the easy stance that had him dancing circles around the lumbering blokes, distracting them for Alistair's deadly long sword. 

The mage began to scramble to her feet, the red glow of blood magic swelling around her as she dug the blade deeper against her wrist. Zevran disengaged his current foe to dash towards her. She lunged towards the cowering women, dagger outstretched as she sought less self-inflicting sources of power, but Zevran beat her to it, slashing out to knock her dagger away with the flat of his blade. 

He had experience enough to know that a shallow wound, or even one so bad as were he to dismember her hand, would merely feed her power. It would have to be a mortal blow, or no cut at all. Fortunately, he was no thug. He jammed an elbow into her solar plexus, stunning her further so that he could line up the killing blow, but she was wearing sturdier armor than he expected.

Alistair cried out behind him as he bowled over two of the thugs, but Zevran could not lose his concentration to check on his friend. Switching his target from her chest to her neck, Zevran swung the flat side of his blade hard at her throat, crushing her windpipe and sending her reeling. 

He kicked her legs out from under her and sheathed his dagger in one smooth movement. He caught her, slipping behind her as she fell, gripping her jaw and the back of her head as she gurgled, choking on her crushed throat. With a hard jerk, he snapped her neck, letting her fall into a boneless heap at his feet. The second kidnapped girl went completely pale at the sight, slumping in a faint as the mage fell.

As she did so, Alistair let out a lusty roar and slid his sword home straight through the leather armor of one of the thug's breastplate, slicing through his heart. Zevran leapt over the mage's corpse and charged forward as another thug lunged at Alistair's back.

"Behind you!" the assassin cried as Alistair tugged his sword free of the man's chest.  
Alistair whirled, throwing up his left arm as though it were a shield, where his shield would have been, but was merely a thickened leather glove. He paired the move with a startling bellow that had the man hesitating enough that the blow glanced off him. The third thug was circling up fast to flank the warrior again, but Zevran was there, slipping in against Alistair as the warrior parried the next strike easily. Now they were back to back, feet angled opposite each other so that the motions of the back would be felt before the feet would move, keeping them from tripping each other up.

It was a familiar dance, one they had shared any number of times. They stepped and turned, moving as one to dispatch the last two men with little trouble. Soon it was quiet but for the sound of their breaths. They sheathed their weapons and turned so they could see each other as they both breathed hard in the aftermath of battle. Automatic glances served to check each other for any injury, longstanding habit that avoided the 'are you alright' types of questions.

Alistair was grinning at him, and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"See? I told you this would be fun!" the young man said, looking down at him fondly.

Zevran smirked back at him, but was swiftly distracted by his flushed cheeks and bright, fond eyes… and smiling lips, so close. The hand on his shoulder remained, and he could feel Alistair smoothing his thumb against the leather of Zevran's vest.

The rush of emotion in his chest was confusing. It felt a great deal like lust, and the excitement of battle, but there was also a wistfulness, a sweetness. And desire - different from lust. Much more than simple arousal. He pushed himself forward, gripping the edges of Alistair's leather jerkin and lifted his head to press his lips against the young man's. 

It was not one of his more practiced kisses. There was no technique or skill. It was simply him, desiring Alistair, to be against him, to breathe him in and taste him.

And Alistair kissed him back, just as simply, lips moving only to press back against his. Slowly Zevran let his lips part, and his tongue slip between them to trace the seam of Alistair's mouth. The younger man caught on quickly, mouth slipping wide as he leaned into the kiss, arms coming up to grip Zevran's elbows. It felt intimate, not lascivious as their tongues touched and tested each other. 

Then Zevran sucked on Alistair's tongue, drawing it into his mouth. Alistair needed no further urging. His tongue slid roughly against Zevran's, thrusting into the elf's mouth. Suddenly the kiss was no longer gentle or merely anything simple but was hot and desperate. Zevran heard a low moan and realized it came from his own chest. He gripped the leather of Alistair's jerkin tightly, pulling hard to grind his lips against the young warrior's.

And then abruptly Alistair broke the kiss, arms tightening around Zevran's torso, face pressing against the side of Zevran's, burrowing against the curve of his neck.  
" _Maker's breath_ Zev, but I want you," he murmured, voice low and breath hot and tantalizing on Zevran's ear as the young warrior rubbed his hands over the elf's back.  
The delicious words sent an excited shudder through Zevran's body.

"Then my friend, you will have me," Zevran replied, leaning into his embrace, rocking his groin against Alistair's thigh, eliciting a shaky breath from the young man. Zev glanced at their secluded surroundings. "We are even alone," he said, then paused, "more or less," he added with a chuckle, glancing at the slumped women.  
The high of the recent battle had him pressing closer and tilting his head, feathering his lips along Alistair's jaw as he murmured in his ear, adding "Why not take me, right here, right now my friend? I will gladly teach you everything you need to know."

Alistair let out a half-groan of desire paired with taut restraint, though he did not step back from the elf's embrace.  
"But that is not what I… not _all_ I want from you, Zevran," he said, lifting his head so he could look down at the assassin.

Zevran frowned, then sighed heavily, leaning back.  
"I ah… you see, it is...," he pursed his lips in frustration at his sudden loss of his customary eloquence. Alistair's cheeks heated in embarrassment and he ducked his head. He saw the curve of Alistair's shoulder start to droop, felt the hands start to slip from his sides.  
 _No!_ Zevran shook his head. He was sending the wrong signals again. He gripped Alistair's arms firmly and gazed up at him. 

"I am in unfamiliar territory, my friend," he said finally, deciding that the simple truth would be best, though he hated to expose his weakness.

At that, Alistair lifted his head and gazed down at him, mouth twisting into a wry smile.  
"And is that so bad? You're in good company there."

Zevran blinked. Then he smiled slowly. "Perhaps you are right."  
Alistair grinned at him. And he felt a broad smile come onto his face as he leaned forward again, lifting his lips gently to the warrior's. Alistair's hands came up to frame his face. When his thumb brushed along the curve of Zevran's ear the assassin moaned against his lips.

Alistair lifted his head to study Zevran. Alistair blushed, but his eyes were intent on Zevran as he repeated the motion with both hands. Zevran looked up at him beneath heavy lids, letting a low hum of pleasure vibrate in his chest at the caress. Alistair stared for a long moment before he cleared his throat and stepped back.

"Well I don't know about you, but I'm parched. What do you say we see if these fellows will buy us a pint and escort these ladies to safety?" he said, gesturing at the various sprawled forms around them.

"Hm?" Zevran said, still gazing at Alistair with those heavy-lidded eyes. 

"Right," Alistair said, clearing his throat again and turning abruptly towards the nearest corpse to loot.

Zevran chuckled and followed suit.


End file.
